


Runaway

by Cupcakemolotov



Series: come alive [35]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolves, F/M, No Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 17:51:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14454609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cupcakemolotov/pseuds/Cupcakemolotov
Summary: Caroline has been running from her soul mate since she found him standing over her father’s corpse.





	Runaway

It was the burning on her wrist that told her she needed to move. Standing outside de Young Museum in the Golden Gate Park, backpack slung over her shoulder, Caroline squinted into the afternoon sun, and cursed the pretty February afternoon. San Francisco was known for the thick blanket of fog, but she'd been tempted outside by the rare sunshine. She was hardly the only one, and the park was crowded.

Tugging her baseball cap a little further over her messy bun, she casually mingled with the roaming students and the shrieking middle schoolers. She didn't see anything out of place, but the soulmate mark on her left wrist didn't lie. Klaus was here, somewhere in the park. She’d have to be careful if she didn't want to be found.

She'd been fourteen, the first time her wrist had caught fire. Her father had come home early, and brought his business associates with him. Her mom had been late going to a shift, and had seen her dad’s car pull up. Her spine had gone stiff, shoulders drawn tight, and Caroline had been ushered into the backyard and told to head over to Bonnie’s until she came for her.

Caroline had set off as told, but had circled back around, intent on catching a glimpse of who the mysterious men where. Squeezing between the fences, she crouched low and waited. Half an hour later, her patience had been rewarded, and the men had left. They’re faces had been difficult to distinguish from a distance, the dark suits and similar builds even more so. What she had been able to see had skittered alarm in cold fingers down her spine; the way her father had stood so stiff and formal.

But it had been the glint of sunshine off dark blonde curls, the carry of sharply accented words on the warm breeze that had started to burn. Those faint words had cut off, the sudden change of impatient and annoyed body language abruptly stiffening. The tilt of his head, the way he turned to scan her neighborhood spoke of hunting, and she’d crouched low, fingers clamping tightly over her wrist as if she could hide it.

She'd stayed there, crouched low and small, shivering in the afternoon sun until she finally heard the roar of engines, until that terrifying sensation of being hunted disappeared. Then she'd snuck back the way she came, and raced to Bonnie’s. She hadn't taken a full breath of air until she stood in Grams kitchen, breathing in the familiar scent of herbs and cookies.

Caroline had managed to hide the truth for two years. She started avoiding her father, had asked for a watch for her birthday. Her parents unexpected separation had helped, until she could almost pretend that hot July afternoon had never happened.Then she'd walked into her father’s murder and everything had changed.

_Caroline bit off a series of curses that would have left her grounded had her mother heard them. Her muscles ached after a long day of cheerleading camp, and she resented the stairs she was forced to climb as the elevator in her dad's apartment complex was repaired. Taking a deep breath, and reminding herself firmly that cheer scholarships didn't hand themselves outs, she hooked her gym bag across her chest, and determinedly started back up the last of the stairs._

_Cheer Camp had been her compromise for agreeing to her dad’s request that she spend her Spring Break at his new place. He'd gotten married over Christmas, and wanted to introduce her to his new family. Caroline had tried to say no, angry and resentful that she hadn’t been invited to the wedding. She hated that she was being forced to pretend that she didn't mind that her dad had replaced her, that Steven and his daughter weren't her worst nightmares._

_The better versions of his old family._

_Then he'd gone and forgotten to pick her up._

_Whatever guilt she might have maintained for stealing cash out of his wallet had all but evaporated when she'd needed it for the cab that she'd just paid for. Steven had taken the week off to hang out with them, and her prickly attitude hadn't seeming phased the affable man, but it clearly had been enough that he hadn't answered her numerous calls either._

_Promising herself she was going to have another discussion with her mom about setting up her own bank account, she heaved a sigh of relief as she reached the correct floor. Stephanie had better not be anywhere near the bathroom. Caroline wanted a bath, and she'd barely tolerating sharing._

_Mouth compressed into a straight line, she'd yanked the apartment door open and walked into a slaughter._

Shifting her backpack a little higher, she casually glanced around again, biting her lip nervously. This was as close as she'd been to Klaus in years. How had he found her? In the years since Richmond, she'd avoid him only twice before. Once in Austin, and once in Chicago. She deliberately stayed in big cities, places it was harder to track her scent.

Places it was harder to corner her.

She still dreamed of him. Fingers tightening around the strap of her backpack, Caroline broke out in a cold sweat of the memories being near him always forced to the surface. The cold yellow of his eyes as he stabbed her father, the splatter of blood across Klaus’ face and curls, the clear signs of torture on Steven’s face, the limp body of Stephanie. The sudden burning ache in her wrist, the clash of disbelief and violence in his perfect face.

His voice following her as she'd turned and ran.

But nothing had been as bad as Chicago.

Shivering at the old memory, pulse a rapid staccato in her throat, she took a centering breath and pushed the the past aside. She'd avoided Klaus Mikaelson for three years, she could do it again.

But it was becoming harder.

The ache in her wrist a minor inconvenience compared to the need that ground against her bones. It'd only been worse, since he'd touched her. The clawing need to touch him in turn, to press shaking fingers against the muscle and bone of him, to draw on the strength he'd offered so freely.

Instead, she'd driven her knee into his thigh, had taken off in a wild run that had left her lost and terrified. Her hands had shaken so badly, she'd nearly fried the engine she'd been hotwiring. She'd put six hundred mile between them before she'd allowed herself to think.

But that night she'd learned that being too close to her intrepid soul mate brought other dangers. Instead of the night terrors that had once woken her, skin cold and clammy, she'd woken soaked in sweat, but not from terror.

For weeks, she dreamed of Klaus’ hands on her skin, his mouth a slow seduction against her breasts, her thighs. He never spoke in those dreams. Her only memories of his voice were the first violent utterance of her name, and years later, the impatient and rough way he'd reached for her with words and hands.

She'd tried to excise him from her veins. No witch would help her, seeing her Soulmate mark as the leash they'd inflicted on werewolves. Mate, soulmate, trap. It didn't matter what word was used, she was a magical weapon and Klaus was her affliction.

Caroline had never bothered with drugs, terrified he'd find her when running wasn't an option. Once her hormones had come raging to life with only a brush of Klaus’ fingertips against her skin, she'd tried to drown herself with sex. She’d never crossed into the true hedonism, but no matter how good the orgasm, she never truly eased the ache.

Sometimes she hated him for it.

Most often, she wondered what it'd be like if it'd been different. If she'd found him before…

But wishful thinking was for children.

Turning sharply at the rose garden, she ground to a halt she found herself feet away from Klaus. He watched her with eyes gone wolf gold, mouth set into a stubborn line that her fingers burned to touch. Seeing him, being close enough to touch him, was a punch in her solar plexus. She’d have known the planes of his the set of his jaw, even had she never dreamed of him

It was a helpless little compulsion to keep track of him that she'd learned to feed little tidbits too. A google search in a library here and a lingering dinner at a bar during a specific newscast there. Following the violence and prestige of America’s werewolf packs was a national hobby. No alpha generated headlines like Klaus Mikaelson, the English upstart who'd ruthlessly cut himself a territory in the Deep South, expanded his territory with his witch siblings.

An alpha who was famously single.

Caroline’s fingers curled tightly into the straps of her backpack as her weight shifted to her toes, and he shook his head slowly.

“I'll catch you.”

There was no doubt that he'd meant it, this werewolf who hunted her. Everything inside her trembled, and she licked dry lips. “You haven't yet.”

The gold blazed, brightening around his pupil, and Caroline realized it was the first time she'd spoken to him directly. His hands dipped into his pockets, posture no less tense. People milled around them, seemingly unaware of the danger that lurked, but Klaus ignored anyone but her.

“That's true,” Klaus agreed, head tipping to the side as he watched her. “But my intentions have never been to cage you.”

She wondered that he thought he could. She tensed as his weight shifted, but Klaus held his position. “What do you want?”

A flicker of disbelief crossed his face, and those vibrant eyes narrowed. “You, Caroline.”

The wolf crawled into his voice, sank into this utterance of her name with a rumble that was nearly tangible against her skin. Electricity sparked across her wrist, and her need to touch him left her knuckles white against the straps. “You killed by dad.”

“I did,” he rumbled, hands leaving his pockets to clasp behind his back, as if he didn't trust them. As if he felt the ache of her skin as keenly as she did. “Your mother said you'd hold it against me.”

Her spine snapped into a rigid line, breath stuttering in her throat. She hadn't spoken to her mother in years. Her eyes burned, her next exhale a hiss between her teeth. “Do not bring my mother into this.”

Impatience sharpened his eyes to blades. “I haven't harmed a hair on her head.”

Bewildered by the thread of something nearly wounded in his voice now, she shook her head, hair falling into her eyes. “I'm supposed to believe that?”

Klaus’ jaw clenched white and red, shoulders drawn rigid. “Yes.”

Caroline jolted at the harshness of that word. Anger churned in her veins, twisted up hard against the stupid need to believe him. Struggling to control the conflicting emotions, she bit her lip hard as he took a careful step back. She barely held in the needy little cry that burned on her tongue.

His eyes slid shut, and when they opened again, they were blue. “Call your mother, Caroline.”

“Why?” It was a rasp in her throat, and his fingers flexed.

“Because she has no reason to lie to you,” Klaus said simply. “You'll know where to find me, should you wish it.”

Caroline watched him walk away, heart hammering in her throat. He'd walked away. Klaus had let her go. Her inhale was shaky, indecision nearly paralyzingly her.

She could call her mom.

Steadying, she turned on her heels and forced herself to go the opposite direction her feet wanted her to follow. Klaus was right. This connection ran two ways, if she wanted to find him, she could. First she'd talk to her mom.

Then maybe...


End file.
